


Fading White

by NoizyKorat



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunk Sex, Everyone is Dead, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Original Character Death(s), Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:38:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoizyKorat/pseuds/NoizyKorat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of them were always very aware that sooner  or later this day would come, yet none of them had been willing to confront themselfs and make their peace with that fact. So when the day of their final fate has come, it catches the surviours Yohji and Omi cold and unprepared.<br/>In a frenzy, they break away from Kritiker and make a run for it. Now stuck together, yet left left on their own in trying to cope with their loss - for good or worse. Irritation, frustration with their unresolved issues, starts building up - a ticking time-bomb waiting to blow up.<br/>Once it does, the last string of sanity severed, it's survival of the fittest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fading White

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Schwindendes Weiß](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434842) by [NoizyKorat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoizyKorat/pseuds/NoizyKorat)



> I claim neither the characters, nor the cannon works as mine, no infringment us intended. This is 100% fanmade without any financial interesst.
> 
> This is self-beta work, thus possibly faulty at times. Let me know if you find some, drop me a line, and I'll fix it.  
> Any positive commentary and constructive critisiscm is much appreciated. Thank you! 
> 
> Losely inspired by an old, very emotionally gripping RPG with a wonderful Yohji player.

Stark white walls, gapingly empty, enclosed plain, spartanic furniture, consisting of a bed, a small table, and a spotless, marmorate PVC floor, that just seemed to belong to this kind of places, like a stamp to a letter. The bitingly sharp, nauseatingly intense odour of disinfectants seemed ever so present, threatening to cut one´s breath off, adding to the cold, repressing atmosphere and eerie quiet, nurturing the illusion of being the only living thing in this whole wide complex.  
A huge window allowed the dismal view of a small, dreary park in fall, through a raw of heavy metal bars. From a bed of dense mist wafting close above ground, arose tall, dark trunks, looking sad, nearly pitiful like the last roughed up soldiers of a long, hard war, left nearly bare by a last hand full leaves, beautiful in the warm, earthen colours of their deaths. A nearly blood red sun sunk into pillows of dense, dirty grey clouds, painting the whole scenery in a gloomy hue of faded orange.  
Complete oblivious to this morbidly aesthetic, distressing picture, huge, brightly blue eyes in sunken, shaded sockets stared out of the slowly fogging window, dazed and absent. Those startling eyes with their heart-rendering expression belonged to a tiny, haggard to the bone figure, nearly pale enough to fade into wall´s stern white, slumped motionless in their chair, appearing more dead then alive. The young, once attractive young face had the tragedy of his pitiable, lost soul written all over it, carved in as deeply as to last for an eternity. Matted, dishevelled hair of a faint, sandy blond colour covered it up almost completely, weakly hanging down like the heads of moribund freesia flowers he recalled having loved dearly once.  
Once, back in the happy days of being one of four team mates, that in daytime posed as dedicated florists to a shop called “Koneko sumu ie”, and in night time turned into vengeful assassins of the kill-on-command group Weiss. As different as they may have been, Aya with his icy vigorousness, Yoji with his flirty attire, Ken with his fiery temper, and he, Omi himself with his sunny spirit, they had soon become more then only comrades, developing a deep, gentle friendship.  
Only this way had they managed to live life that peacefully and have such a good time, despite their woeful, violent job. Each of them had their own share of a tragic past to drag along, yet if one of them, human as they were, broke down under their burden, not one of the others was missing to ease the weight and help to drag along, together. Solely through these tight bonds, never to cease watching each other´s backs, did they survive that long, making their eventual defeat look all the more inapprehensible and outrageous, nearly pathetic.  
It had, as he believed, been entirely his very own fault. He´d failed, failed so miserably. Failed as Tsukiyono Omi, as Bombay, as leader and member of Weiss, as well as Mamoru, the youngest of the Takatori sons, and most importantly, even as a friend.  
Everything would have been fine if he´d kept his cool and ignored Mastermind like he always did, when he told him, how his supposed father Takatori Reiji had set up the whole abduction back then, to trick his brother, the actual, though oblivious biological father, Takatori Shuichi, the men known to Weiss as their commandant Persia, into “rescuing” his own son just to turn him into a murderer under his very own command.  
Overreacting in his upset, Omi had, despite Oracles warnings, taken a panicked shot at his uncle Reiji and so practically driven a bullet into his very own, long searched for father´s head, as if it were his own finger, not Mastermind´s having pulled the trigger. Shaken up and ridden by guilt about that fact, Omi had no longer been able to focus his concentration on fighting Schwarz, thus driving himself right into Prodigy´s harsh, materia-less death grip, only able to watch in horror, how Weiss, and therefore his last and most major raison d´etre, slowly crumbled to finally fall apart.  
To the soundtrack of Yoji´s pained screams, resounding cruelly in Omi´s ears, as he dropped to his knees, tightly clutching his head, fallen victim to Mastermind´s mental assaults, Aya´s body tumbled to the ground, jerking grotesquely under the hail of Oracle´s bullets, his expression of shock and disbelieve, while a gush of blood sprinkled the whole scenery in this hated, though admittedly beautiful deep red, as Berserker´s blade slid through Ken´s throat, who was too horrified and taken aback from how all his mates had gone down to fend it off.  
This very last picture had painfully burned itself deeply, indelibly into his memory, before Prodigy´s telekinesis pressed down hard on the small of his neck, turning everything black around him.

For whatever odd reason, Omi had survived, Prodigy obviously having considered him dead just a little to early. Once he came to again, he found himself on his bed, a stern-faced Manx standing tall above him. She looked pale, and if you knew her slightly troubled, but her gaze was hard and determined, her voice smooth and even more coldly professional as usual, she calm and clearly delivered the statement entrusted to her, word by word.  
“Weiss leader Tsukiyono Omi, Codename Bombay, Kritiker declares the mission failed at your guilt, for the killings of your superior Persia, Takatori Shuichi as well as your team members Abyssinian, Fujimiya Ran and Siberian, Hidaka Ken, on top of having Balinese, Kudo Yoji captured by the enemy. Even through being the former Takatori Mamoru you shall therefore be declined your rightful succession as Persia and either commit suicide to cleanse your vast and be buried as a proud Takatori or, you will, like Balinese, immediately be eliminated as a traitor.”  
Through pain and shock Omi´s face turned graven, his voice wavering from lingering weakness and building wrath as he leapt to his feet, facing Manx´ gun with the last dart in hand he´d still had up is sleeve, his eyes agleam with an anger nobody had ever seen on him yet.  
“Then I declare independence”  
His enraged voice resounded still, as it mingled with the thuds of Manx´ body sagging to the floor and the door falling shut.  
It had been a risky manoeuvre and a close match, but he´d done it. Throwing unaimed, therefore giving up his last defence, while making a dash for the door, he´d indeed succeeded to nail the dart into the shoulder of the woman he used to see as someone as close to a mother he´d ever get, killing her, before her finger had pulled the trigger through.  
He felt the familiar after-kill guilt strike him hard, making his eyes burn as if some had poured acid in, but he refused to let himself lose. Tsukiyono Omi would no longer cry, that he swore to himself.  
For the sake of reacting rational, quick and precise without risking anything, Omi allowed himself a few hours of cool-down time, walking through down town, in disguise as not to be discovered, before finding himself a quiet, little internet café, where he could get to work undisturbed.  
Within two hours, he´d tracked down Schwarz, organized fake IDs and plane tickets for himself and Yoji, as well as erased all tracks he might still have left.  
He took the train to the location he´d figured out, and hesitated a bit, summoning all his courage, before he walked right up to the huge front gate of Schwarz´ extravagant mansion, loudly announcing his intentions, trusting Prodigy to have organized decent security equipment for his team. Indeed did Oracle turn up a few minutes later, throwing him curious looks from behind those oddly reflecting glasses as he led him in, offering him a seat on an expansive lounge placed right in the middle of a spacious parlour.  
Of course they were first of all surprised to see him still alive, especially Prodigy, whose exchange of glares with Oracle spoke volumes, and second suspicious of his honesty and motivation to betray his nearly lifelong employer so straight-out. Naturally they weren´t going to hand Balinese over for free and Omi had no more obligations to Kritiker which would limit the expand of information he could afford to leak, for the sake of his team mate, so he dished it out freely from all he knew. Mastermind looked happy to have a few names, the minds to which he could depredate for some more tasty details, while Berserker gave the impression of being quite psyched about either helping Mastermind in ´retrieving´ further information or otherwise get rid of the living evidence, whereas Crawford, judging by the width of his smirk, found obvious pleasure in jotting down notes to plans and strategies, hovering over building plans, as Prodigy disturbingly happy shuffled away with security details and access codes, to fulfil their part of the deal.  
Without any discussions Omi was handed a very pale Yoji, who was roughed up badly enough to allow the assumption that Berserker had gone through all sorts of fun with him, while his not quite there mental condition implied that whatever Mastermind had him on surely wasn´t some harmless Aspirin and was even kindly shown to the door, where a taxi was already waiting.

Once they reached the airport, Omi quickly disposed of the driver by twisting his head.  
Glad that he had just the perfect size, Omi stripped the driver, to replace Yoji´s tattered remains of clothing that he´d later on entrust a random waste basket, effectively hiding the dazed eyes behind a flashy pair of shades, perfectly matching the tasteless hawaii-shirt to a decent tourist look.  
Having boarded the plane without any trouble, Omi had to fight back a deep sigh of content and relief as they finally set out into the air, leaving Japan far, far behind for ever, in exchange for the comforting safety of a calm, mundane life in the anonymity of an abroad metropolis.  
As soon as Omi´d just began to fall asleep, slowly sinking into his mates shoulder, Yoji awoke with a start. Behind the sunglasses, a panicked gaze scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. Fearing for the worst, Omi threw sharp, observant glances around, noticing a middle aged Japanese woman across the aisle, eyeing them curiously, maybe with a hint of suspicion. Not quite thinking about it, Omi simply followed his gut feeling to pull Yoji in for a deep, desperate kiss, for an odd reason knowing exactly how such physicality always helped a great deal for his friend. Proving how his sharp instincts never failed, Omi felt the tension in Yoji´s body slowly dissolve into thankful acceptance, as he melted into the kiss almost right away, going lax in his arms. Ever so slowly Omi faded the kiss, locking his partner´s unfocused gaze on him, reflexively starting to mumble softly in a Tokyo prefecture dialect, throwing apologetic gazes in direction of the woman.  
“Now darling, no need to be so startled. Don´t you think we´ll be enjoying our vacation? I´m sure we´ll have the best time we´ve ever had and be back before we´re only starting to miss good old Japan. So, cheer up already, yes?”  
That little show had worked just fine, for the woman blushed deeply and hurriedly looked away, either embarrassed of having been caught staring or intimidated by the obvious homosexuality, but Omi didn´t care what exactly it was that shut her up as long as it did.  
For once, he really was lucky today in some sense, because he´d managed to get neither of them killed several times, he´d found a way for them to escape in time, and he´d prevented hell to break loose upon figuring them out. Seriously, he wouldn´t want to know what would have happened if he´d failed even one of these tasks.  
A sad, though amused tiny smile graced his face upon having his elder partner peacefully snuggle up against him, like a little kid seeking warmth and comfort to fall asleep, showing a surprisingly cute side that usually never came through. While Yoji slept soundly against his shoulder, Omi forced himself to stay awake through the whole flight, with the help of the magazines offered, refusing to take the slightest risk for trouble.  
Sooner then he realized, Yoji´s tight, probably drug induced sleep having kept them clean of any further hassle, the plane had landed and they left the airport to board a taxi yet again.  
In hushed and quick, probably strongly accented English, Omi exchanged a few words with the driver, who nodded and brought them deep into the down town districts of the city, where everybody minded solely and strictly their own business, lacking time, interest and safety to stick their noses into other people´s affairs. Here, even their clearly Asian origin, but therefore atypical appearance won´t attract any more attention then the here commonly seen natural blond and blue-eyed Latinos, meaning close to zero.  
The apartment was actually a smallish, thankfully halfway well kept room, furnitured with a medium sized wardrobe, a petite round table with two chairs and a tiny, typically western single bed. The kitchen consisted of a little hearth with two hot plates and a mini-fridge and sat on one of the toilette´n´shower box-bath´s two walls.  
Wrinkling his nose, Omi hurriedly opened the single wee of window available, hoping that would chase the still heavily present, sweetish smell of marijuana out of there quickly.  
Beyond doubt it was going to be hard, living so close together and in a poverty they, especially Omi, were no longer used to, but even with all connections and a lot of blackmail, this was the best he´d been able to come up with in such short time. They had to work themselves back to their feet again. One week should supposedly be enough to get over the worst, Omi figured, but after that they really had to find a place to work. Time had definitely been too short to ensure something about that beforehand, but at least he´d gotten a tip about the military looking for someone to do some heavy crack up stuff for them, which might work out with his programming and hacking skills, thanks to years of practice while in Weiss, and two years of maturity that he´d added to his new ID, that also made him and Yoji siblings, to arise as little suspicion as possible.  
Practically, Omi had thought of absolutely everything, so there should be nothing that could possibly go wrong now, shouldn´t it?  
All of a sudden, Yoji´s tired and mildly confused sounding voice ripped Omi out of his thought´s depths, demanding an explanation of the situation, that he couldn´t refuse him.

Unlike Omi´s hopeful predication, whatever drugs Schwarz had used on his mate were all but harmless, so it was already by the end of their second week, here in Toronto, that Yoji was finally able to bear with the decreasing cravings, his health slowly improving again.  
They quickly settled for living side by side, each their own life, without their ways touching anywhere else as sometimes the bed and table they shared, but not even that was regular. Yoji had not uttered a single word in all that time, and left nearly every night, not to return before some time in between the middle of the night and a couple days later, usually drunk and smelling of easy sex, falling on their mutual bed to fall asleep immediately the way he was, complete with clothes. He became even more restless and seclusive then he´d ever used to in Weiss, his gaze still remained empty and absent all the time, but Omi left him be, for once in fear, that Yoji might break out, if he made a turn for the too authoritative, and second in hope, that he´d come to talk on his own accord, just like in Weiss. Omi had, of course, found them both jobs with the military, himself quickly becoming their hacking and programming ace, whereas Yoji became a first class chauffeur, but nothing had changed. In between them, it was as if everything stayed still, completely unmoving as if some had pressed the pause button during a video, while on the outside, everything was going the usual way as if caught up in a time-loop.  
For month it went on and on and on like that, the continuous sorrow painting deep, reddish scares on Omi´s arms to release the lump of tension and pain within his chest, whereas Yoji´s drinking became more and more frequent, barely ceasing, anywhere. Even the military would no longer tolerate him and his habit, if it wasn´t for the fact, that both of them were luminaries in their respective fields, and Omi would follow without second thought, if they threw his supposedly elder brother out. Yet Omi worried more and more about for just how much longer they´d be able to hold on. It scarred him badly to be so openly left in the hands of mercy that way.  
That fateful night, he´d eventually be proven right in his worries.

Yoji came home, drunk as any other night, falling on their bed, though not to fall asleep right away like usual. Pretending to be sleeping, while he was actually still awake, as he came to be more and more often nowadays, Omi could clearly hear Yoji undress, and before he could have any second thoughts on that fact, not quite warm hands were already feeling him up. Such ministrations were totally foreign to Omi, indeed as sweet and innocent as he appeared to be, but they chased a pleasant shiver down his spine, so he he chose to wait up another moment, carefully observing what his mate would do next. Skilfully, Yoji peeled the smaller out of his pyjamas, who was now openly awake, looking increasingly scared, which he was only answered to by a dizzy smile and a deep forceful kiss, that took this breath away. Practically dancing, Yoji´s long and lean, wire-scared fingers moved over still youthfully soft skin, paying special attention to the chest that was not as flat and soft as it should be, considering his companion´s age. The way those fingers brushed over his nipples sent tingling shocks through Omi´s tiny body, making him gasp into the kiss and arch his back, desperate for more. As one hand wrapped around his hardening manhood, starting to pump, Omi seriously wanted to protest, but the overpowering sensation and the tongue deep within the cavern of his mouth wouldn´t allow him to. Only a few strokes later, Omi was already deep enough within the feeling to forget about any possible protest, instead kissing back fiercely, bucking his hips into his partner´s hand, thus failing to notice two fingers sliding into him, slowly preparing him. Only did he notice, how everything around him seemed to turn into liquid wax, the moment Yoji´s fingers found his prostate, sending waves of pleasure through that tiny body, intense enough to disable Omi´s brain, turning him into a needy slave to his mercy. A searing pain brought Omi back down in a full crash, all of a sudden, when Yoji push into him with one quick thrust, causing him to break the kiss and cry out loud. Tears had gathered in these huge blue eyes, as Omi begged his friend to stop, drumming fists against his chest, without any success. With an apologetic kiss to his forehead, the thrusts started, increasing the pain a tenfold. For a while, Omi still tried to fight back, scratching, punching and pushing, but Yoji was just so much stronger, barely even noticing his efforts. Defeated, Omi closed his eyes, crying quietly, only sometimes voicing his pain in a small whimper as he tore further and further around his once trusted mate, who so freely and shamelessly devoured his body now. Moans ringing creepily in his ears, Omi clawed deep into his shoulders with a tiny scream, followed by various small, stifled sobs, as Yoji came hard, deep within him, semen burning nearly unbearably in the wounds inflicted. Once he was done, Yoji slid out unceremoniously, completely ignorant to the pained gasp and went right for the shower without even a single glance back.  
Shaking from the very core, Omi sat up as quickly as his aching body would allow him to, pulling the sheets tightly around himself for the small, illusionary comfort of no longer being in the disgraceful, vulnerable position of laying naked and sprawled on the bed, helpless, covered in tears, sweat, blood and cum, while inside his head, a thousands of “why”s and “if”s and “what to do?”s just fought a bitter battle.  
Once Yoji stepped out of the bathroom again, Omi´s gaze abruptly clung to the watch resting on the night stand, which he, without thinking, made a desperate dive for, once approached. The wire screeched, slung tightly around Yoji´s neck, a sound that had crept Omi out since the very beginning. Even with his eyes closed, Omi could see in front of his mind´s eye, how the strings slowly cut flesh, tiny droplets of blood running along, Yoji´s hands, trying to free himself, even the desperation in his eyes, as he heard him huff for breath and felt his pull on the wire. Yet, he did not let go, until the body tumbled to the floor, scaring him into releasing the wire immediately, instead of holding on, for he did not intend to kill. Covering his face with his hands, Omi sank to the floor besides the unconscious body, crying for all he was worth.  
Once he finally pulled himself together, he quickly changed the sheets, heaved Yoji on the bed, and roughly cleansed himself up a bit. Blond bangs hidden under a baseball cap pulled deep into his face, Omi hurriedly left the apartment without looking back, wandering the city aimlessly until he ended up in a nearly empty long distance travel bus to Vancouver.

With his lack of motivation, Omi had simply been lucky to have been able of settling down so quickly in this new, foreign city. He´d arranged for another face ID giving him legal age and found himself a small rental room in a run down, but peaceful neighbourhood, along with a job as some night clerk in a small, dirty motel. It wasn´t much, but enough to live the mundane life on, he´d wished for so long, so he could actually have been satisfied, if it wasn´t for his hunting past.  
Just as he´d feared deep inside, this illusionary peace did not last long, just as he believed he deserved. On the exact same day of his second month in Vancouver, Omi returned from work as it had barely dawned and checked his mailbox, like always, expecting the usual emptiness, as a simple, brown envelope sailed into his hands. Surprised as well as curious, Omi hurried upstairs into his apartment and carefully slit it open. Out tumbled a single slice of bleach-white paper, carrying the scan-print of a newspaper article. “Army driver attempts spectacular suicide”, the headline announced, causing Omi to pale and hurriedly read on. Once finished, the paper slid form his hands, swaying before it kissed the floor, leaving Omi shaken and as pale as the wall he´d supported his body against.  
The article had informed him, that about a week after his departure, Yoji had snapped, still on work, right in the middle of a ride, as he pulled a gun right from the belt of the colonel he was transporting and drove a bullet through his head. Miraculously he´d not been dead immediately and thus rushed to the hospital. The investigation of the incident had led to the discovery of their former identities being searched for treason by the Japanese government, putting him on the international manhunt.  
Fighting a headache, Omi clutched his head in despair, eyes watering quickly. No matter what Yoji had done to him, he never should have left him like that. He´d failed him in every aspect. As a leader, a team mate and as a friend. If he´d just managed to keep Weiss alive, none of this would ever have happened. This was his fair, much dreaded punishment he´d feared coming all along.  
The paper on the floor lay on it´s printed front, revealing a few lines of clean, slightly edgy handwriting, it´s deep black contrasting sharply against the stern white.  
“Thought you might want to know. Prodigy”  
In disbelieve Omi´s eyes went wide. With this tiny slip of paper, and these few words, Omi´s old arch enemy had demonstrated, how all he´d struggled to learn in life and his every attempt to bring himself and Yoji into safety had been completely and utterly in vain.  
Even through all the effort he´d put in concealing and caution, Prodigy had known his every step. At any time would he have been able to take advantage of his naïve faith and killed the both of them as easy as flies. Also he could just as well have sold this knowledge to Kritiker, who´d sure as hell have gladly kissed his feet for it. But he didn´t. He didn´t, even through Schwarz´ policy never to do anything that won´t gain them profit. The very same boy Omi had always seen as inferior to him had turned out to be, in fact, so far above, and spared him out of pity, sadistically denying him the fair chance to die like man of even the least pride and honour.  
He owed his life to his most hated enemy. Something inside him broke, irreparably.  
With an outcry of rage, Omi shot up from his bed, ripped the article into the tiniest pieces he could manage, before he set out on rampaging the apartment, breaking, throwing things, screaming his lungs out and the whole complex out of bed, until numerous hands had held him down and a sharp pain in his arm indulged a heavy, overwhelming darkness that swallowed him.  
Once he awoke again, he was here, in this room, alone and broken.

Slowly Omi´s vision cleared and focused again, for the first time consciously taking in the outside scenery through his foggy window.  
He could not get a hold of any reason, but was suddenly felt reminded of Yoji.  
Was he still alive? And if, what would he be doing? Would he miss him? Would he maybe even come here, trying to find him? For a moment he wondered, if he´d even want him to.  
Thick, slow drops had started falling to built dense rays of rain, distorting this depressing picture in a way that made it seem, as if it was a painful, distant memory, slowly fading into oblivion, just like Omi´s life....


End file.
